


Fire and Ice: A Collection of Drabbles

by shadowofrazia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, Fluff and Angst, Harry/Draco Last Drabble Writer Standing, M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 21:15:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1617290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowofrazia/pseuds/shadowofrazia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These were written for the Last Drabble Writer Standing at <a href="http://slythindor100.livejournal.com">slythindor100</a> on lj.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire and Ice: A Collection of Drabbles

 

**1\. Hippogriff**

Loving Draco is like riding a hippogriff.

It’s the swoop in Harry’s stomach, the rush he gets when he sees Draco smile at him from across the room, or up from where his head rests against Harry’s chest. It’s the joy of knowing that smile, the private smile that makes the corners of Draco’s eyes wrinkle _just so_ , is all Harry’s.

Loving Draco is fear.

It’s fearing change, pain, loss. They’ve both gone through so much, _lost_ so much. Harry has his head bowed, knows the wrong move could end everything. Draco’s tongue can be as sharp as any talon,capable of killing with just one blow.

Loving Draco is trust.

Trust is Harry being able to bow his head to a hippogriff. It’s exposing the back of his neck to that sharp beak and talons, and hoping he’ll be safe. Trust is making Draco know Harry can be trusted, because beneath the sharp words and the cold grey eyes, Harry knows Draco is vulnerable, just waiting to attack, to defend. Harry knows, because Harry is the same way. To Harry, trust is knowing he and Draco will make it out alive.

Most of all, for Harry, loving Draco is freedom.

Freedom is moving past their roles, their Houses, their pasts. Everyone expects Harry Potter, Killer of Voldemort; Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World; Harry Potter, the Hero. Freedom is forgetting past expectations. Harry Potter is someone Harry’s never been, has never wanted to be, and never will be. But when Harry goes home, sees Draco asleep on their sofa after a long day at work, Harry knows this is freedom. Freedom is knowing Draco loves Harry more than he’s ever loved Harry Potter.

Loving Draco is like riding a hippogriff, because it’s something Harry could never describe in words.

 

**2\. Pygmy Puff**

“We should get a pet,” said Harry, breaking the comfortable quiet of the room. Draco looked over at him from where he sat on the couch, a stack of essays in his lap, waiting to be marked.

“We’ve already got an owl,” Draco responded, setting another parchment aside. He preferred to grade by hand because, despite his beliefs as a child, he knew magic _was_  capable of making mistakes.

They did have an owl, but Isidora was a temperamental and rather large barn owl. She was a pet, yes, but she wasn’t really a _pet_.

“I meant a real pet.” Harry paused. “Something cuddly…like a puppy.”

“I should have known you’d be a  dog person,” muttered Draco, ignoring Harry’s use of _something cuddly_. “My mum had a cat.”  

“After dealing with Hermione’s cat for so long, I’m surprisingly not too fond of cats,” Harry said.

Draco snorted. “That’s not a cat, it’s a bloody monster.” He ran the end of his quill absentmindedly over his bottom lip. “I’d suggest a snake, but you’d simply hiss at it all the time, and I wouldn’t know if you were griping about me, so that’s definitely out.  And I’ve never liked rodents.”

Harry groaned and rolled his eyes. “At this rate, we’re going to end up with either a pygmy puff or a blast-ended skrewt.”

“There’s an idea,” said Draco suddenly. Harry gawked at him.

“You don’t want a puppy, but you’re okay with a blast-ended skrewt?”

A pillow soared across the room and hit Harry squarely in the face. “Don’t be daft. I was talking about a pygmy puff. Does Weasley still sell them?”

“I’ll firecall George in the morning and ask,” said Harry, his smile feeling a bit forced as he set the pillow aside. It still felt strange to refer to George on his own. Harry shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts.

Draco watched him for a moment, concern just barely visible on his face. Then, he nodded, turning back to the essays on his lap. “Ask him if he’s still got purple.”

 

**3\. Basilisk**

“What do you dream about?”

In the dim light coming through their bedroom window, Draco saw Harry turn to look at him. “Do you want the whole list, or did you want something specific?”

Draco chose his words carefully, picking at the blanket. “Sometimes, I hear you hiss in your sleep.”

As Harry met Draco’s gaze, his eyes glowed unnaturally green in the moonlight. “Snakes,” he said. “I liked them before second year.”

“I never really thought it was you, you know,” Draco said quietly, resting his hand on Harry’s left elbow. Harry looked down at it, then shifted to rest on his back.

A long moment of silence passed, then, “The basilisk kills me every time. I don’t mind; it means everybody lives, in the end.”

Without speaking, Draco pulled Harry into his arms, fighting the urge to cry.

 

**4\. Phoenix**

Draco had always been very fond of phoenixes, much to his father’s disappointment.

The Malfoys were ice, in appearance and in manner. They’d worked for generations to be seen that way. It was clear from an early age that Draco was meant to be carved from ice, just like his parents and every person that came before them.

Draco wasn’t meant to like phoenixes. He wasn’t meant to like any fire at all, because fire melted ice, turned it to water, made it unsteady. Draco’s father would call it weak.

But phoenixes were more than fire. They were life and death, rebirth and second chances.

And now, Draco had his own phoenix, a man made of fire and second chances. If this is what melting was, well, Draco didn’t think it was all that bad.

 

**5\. Jarvey**

Draco Malfoy hated jarvies.

It wasn’t really something a lot of people knew about him; it wasn’t as though he spent his time speaking extensively about rodents. Plus, he knew it was a fairly irrational fear, if one took it at face value. Unfortunately for him, Harry hadn’t taken anything Draco did at face value in a very long time.

“It’s because of the ferret thing in fourth year, isn’t it?”

Draco scowled. “No. Don’t be daft.”

Harry leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter, watching as Draco cooked. “It is, isn’t it?”

“You’re being childish.” A bit of tomato sauce spilled over the side of the pot onto the stove top, and Draco figured he should probably stir a bit less violently. “They’re disgusting creatures.”

Draco knew he was flushing, and he knew Harry was grinning that _stupid_ grin he always got when he knew he’d won an argument. At least it wasn’t an expression Draco had to see very often.

“Fine! It’s because of the ferret thing!” he snapped, throwing up his hands and spinning to face Harry. “If you’d been turned into a bloody rodent, you wouldn’t be too fond of them either! _Why are you laughing; this is serious!_ ”

“Wait, Draco! I’m sorry!” Harry called as Draco stormed from the kitchen. “What about dinner?”

“Get your bloody jarvey to do it!”

 

**6\. Thestral**

After the Final Battle, after the anger, the fear, and the _death_ that had permeated the world around him, Draco took a walk. It was dawn, and Draco was unable to sleep, afraid of what he’d see.

He walked without knowing where he was going, until he ended up in a clearing in the Dark Forest, surrounded by the trees, the smell of the earth, and the _silence._

It was so, so silent.

Draco took a deep breath and sat on a nearby boulder. His body ached, and he was so tired. He sighed and looked to his left. The thestral stood nearby, staring at him. It took him nearly a minute to work out what it was.

And then he was crying, huge stupid sobs that made him shake and gasp as the tears ran down his dirty cheeks. He tried to stop, afraid of who might be watching; ashamed that, after everything that had happened, _this_ is what broke him.

He’d never seen a thestral before; he never thought it’d hurt so much.

 

**7\. Unicorn**

“What’s your happiest memory?”

“I wasn’t aware this was going to be a heart to heart,” Draco said dryly.

“It helps to say it aloud.”

“Death Eaters can’t cast a _patronus_. Everyone knows that.”

Harry calmly met Draco’s gaze, knowing he’d only mentioned Death Eaters in an attempt to rile Harry up. “Snape’s _patronus_  was a doe.”

Draco looked away. “I’m not--” he sighed. “What if I’m not like him? What if I can’t do it?”

“Then I’ll have to stay near you. You know, in case dementors attack.” Harry grinned at Draco’s exasperated expression.

Draco was silent for a long moment, then: “My mother and I once stumbled upon a herd of unicorn. It’s the happiest I’ve ever felt.”

"Want to give it a try, then?" asked Harry.

Draco took a nervous breath and slowly raised his wand.

 

**8\. Dragon**

There were days Draco wasn’t okay, days where guilt and sorrow crashed into him like the tail of a dragon, coming from nowhere, but hurting all the same. They were days he’d sit quietly, wrapping himself in layers of icy steel and anything that could protect himself from the dragon threatening to burn him alive from the inside.

But these were the days Harry stayed near, smelling of spice and earth and something Draco couldn’t quite name as Harry curled around him. They were the days Draco would breathe and remember: sometimes it took a hero to slay a dragon.

 

 

 

 


End file.
